For Shoes
by MushroomMafia
Summary: ...Specifically, Femme Fatale's Silver Silent Killer Boots. Tenten will do anything for them, even serving as messenger-nin for a year. What she gets out of this, though, is a lot more than just Killer Boots.


Messenger-nin got too much work, and too little credit. When Tenten signed up for this job it was because one of two things Gai-sensei had promised:

The _shoes._

Sure, the thought of beating Neji in their annual speed contests, and someday far, far off in future _Lee_, was appealing. But no. It was the finest, newest, sleekest newest model of Femme Fatale's Killer Boots, named _Silver Silent,_ advertised at 2499.99 a piece (and when Femme Fatale said 'a piece', they meant it—for the sole reason of _perfect fit;_ if a kunoichi's right foot was smaller than the left, then there would be a couple millimeters of extra space at the toe, which could lead to horrible things such as slight (and, boy, was it _slight) _imperfections in balance; this also meant that a kunoichi could wear one shoe on her left foot and a different one on her right, to accommodate her fighting style) that convinced her to take on this high maintenance job.

These boots weren't the Sakura-esque, knee-high, patent leather, complete-with-silver-buckles fancy fancy fancy girly-girl kunoichi boots. These 2499.99 a piece boots were the perfect just-above-the-ankle-length (to prevent against sprains), customizable weight (for specific training), up-to-feather-light (for stealth missions), steel-tipped (to prevent against broken toes), customizable temperature (for trekking through deserts and snow storms) kunai, wind, sand, fire, heat, cold, and even _stain_-proof shoes for a weapon-mistress like herself.

Heck, they were perfect for _any_ shinobi with feet from size child's 2 to adult 104 (this extra-large range made fitting prodigious children and big fat giants a breeze).

They even came with removable, adjustable shin guards!

Needless to say, when Tenten saw the ad, in her July edition of Kunoichi Weekly, for these beautiful creatures, her dream had changed from becoming a kunoichi of Tsunade's caliber to simply _touching_ the Silver Silent Killer Boots.

Gai, as the all-knowing sensei of Team-8, of course knew the Silver Silent model of the Femme Fatale's popular line of Killer Boots were the most perfect bargaining chips in the book. And a few well-chosen sparkling grins and thumbs up and of course his most tight-fitting, see through bodysuit had the Femme Fatale designer (who happened to be Kurenai, funnily enough—and this would be the source of her wealth that continues to baffle her students and Asuma to this day) throwing a pair of size 7 left shoe and size 6 and nine-elevenths right shoe at him and bolting.

They were, admittedly, a sight to see; even in the dull black ANBU ASSASSIN color.

One may ask why in fact Gai would go to the trouble of finding not only where the Femme Fatale designer lived, but which entrance, be it doors or windows or secret passages, was the most efficient to break into from. The answer was simple.

Kakashi.

This certain silver-haired genius was indeed, quite genius. Caught in a losing bet with Shizune, who definitely had _not_ inherited her teacher's laughable gambling skills, it looked as if Kakashi's only hope was taking on the menial duties of messenger-nin.

Messenger-nin, however boring their job was, were not just important. They were _crucial_, in every aspect of the word. Who else would be at the Hokage's beck and call to deliver mission scrolls to shinobi? Their significance was lost, however, amongst the more dramatic deaths of their peers. With no credit, no merit, and not much pay, Konoha's supply of messenger-nin was running dangerously low. Of course, there were always the shinobi who dreamed of being useful, but were just a little too kind, a little too weak, a little too cowardly, and a little too stupid to be an active-duty shinobi, and signed up. But they were rare and not always available.

So thus begun the system of three-week rotations. Every active-duty jounin of Konoha, be it a teenager or a (very fit) grandfather or an ex-missing-nin, was put on a scrap of paper (rumor had it that these paper were in fact scraps of important paper work that Tsunade had gleefully ripped up) a certain number of times (the most disliked and/or ones Tsunade wished to torture most scored the greatest number of times) and they were to be randomly drawn by a very impartial judge (Danzo himself).

The two unlucky chosen ones were taken off of regular missions and put onto messenger-nin duty instead.

Jounin were known to pray to every deity they knew, as well as a couple they didn't, before the start of each three-week session. Neji, as a member of ANBU, (a fact only his team knew) had caught a couple shinobi performing this ritual on tape, and his team had gotten a good laugh at it before Lee was the one chosen.

So, Shizune, who had a grand total of two hundred or so scraps put in with her name, had started a bet with Kakashi, whose name had been put in one hundred and seventeen times. This bet stated that the loser had to do both their own, and the other's, every messenger-nin shift for the next year. Kakashi, deeming that he had nothing to lose, agreed and found himself in trouble as the odds failed to turn in his favor.

He had been slated to do missing-nin duty, for all but one three-week session from this July to the next, unless he could find two willing volunteers. (Willing volunteers either did not exist, or were located in the Mental Ward.)

Thinking fast, he had in turn challenged Gai to a competition— whoever could get their team's kunoichi to deliver the most scrolls would be declared the winner.

And Gai, being Gai, had very enthusiastically taken up on this proposal.

This left one wide-eyed Tenten, very obviously in love with the Silver Silent boots dangled in front of her face, to the duty of messenger-nin.

"Just one year of messenger-nin duty," Gai had coaxed, holding the boots just an inch away from Tenten's outstretched fingers with a contract paper in his other hand, "Just one year, and these boots will be _yours_."

"Yeah," Tenten had answered dreamily while signing the contract, lost in a world known only to herself. "Yeah, just one year…"

At this same time found Kakashi also dangling a pair of boots mere centimeters from Sakura's outstretched hands; now these were Manolo Blahnik instead of Femme Fatale, _gifted_ to Kakashi instead of thrown to, and gotten by more subtler, and rather more inappropriate means than Gai's method.

("Just one year of messenger-nin duty," Kakashi had coaxed, holding the boots just an inch away from Sakura's outstretched fingers with a contract paper in his other hand, "Just one year, and these boots will be _yours_."

"Yeah," Sakura had answered dreamily while signing the contract, lost in a world known only to herself. "Yeah, just one year…")

They should've known it was not at all worth the trouble.

* * *

One week later Tenten was dumping twice as much Epsom salts as usual into her bath, flipping through her PO mail (which was delivered by the UPS truck and not by messenger-nin) in her tub.

In fact she was expecting a package from Kunoichi Wear, a brand that was a staple in every female's wardrobe, be it a sports enthusiast, fashionista, or hardcore assassination specialist. Kunoichi Wear was a much cheaper company that specialized in training gear that could Endure and Endeavor, or said their ads. Tenten had returned the black training shirt she'd bought two months earlier because it could not Endure _or_ Endeavor against the fireball Sasuke sent at her back, stating that it was a "complete rip-off by a civilian-based company who had no right to call themselves 'kunoichi' wear because they couldn't protect against much of anything." She was thinking about sending another complaint because it had been _two months,_ the civilian PO was indeed slower than the Pony Express but it couldn't _possibly _take more than two months for a delivery.

But instead of a new training shirt, Tenten found a letter addressed to 'Ms. Something Tenten', from "123 White Water Drive". Intrigued by this very civilian address, Tenten opened the envelope and took out the stationary inside.

_Cats! _And _daisies! _On the _paper! _Shaking her head, she read the note written with a very formal black gel pen.

_Dear Ms. Something Tenten,_

_We have been notified from the Bureau of Shinobi and Civilian Affairs that the particular bootprints upon our rooftops belong specifically to yourself._

At this point Tenten blinked in amazement. Their civilization had really come far, if it could pinpoint who exactly left certain _bootprints._

_We have also been informed that as a messenger-nin, our rooftops would serve as a foothold many, many more times._

_We, of 123 White Water Drive, would like to enlighten you to the indisputable fact that the incessant noise of your own steel-soled boots have been not only distracting, but torturously so. As respectable civilians, with respectable jobs and families, we work eight hours a day trying to make a living satisfying to ourselves, our family, and…_

Rolling her eyes, Tenten skipped the next fifteen paragraphs and read the final.

_In conclusion, we would like to inform you that we have sent a formal complaint to the Hokage hoping to put a ban on shinobi like yourself from carelessly and thoughtlessly banging upon our rooftops. We hope you have a good day._

_Sincerely, _

_The Family at 123 White Water drive._

No way.

She was _not_ just sent a complaint from the very people she put her life on the line for every day, telling her to quit _running on their roofs. _

This was bull. Completely _bull. _She was suffering through her horrible twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week job of messenger-nin, all for the boots that lay in wait for next July, and these civilians were _complaining _about her using the rooftops as a method of travel?

It was final; messenger-nin got no credit at all.

She chucked the letter in the toilet without a second glance, and went to sleep in her bathtub, for the single reason of seeing those beloved boots (in her dreams) again.

The next morning, there would be five more complaints resting in her mailbox.

_tbc_

* * *

Review? Please? Please? Thanks?


End file.
